


How to Stay

by TheMalapert



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, And that cell Loves Jaskier, Established Relationship, Jaskier is insecure, Magic, Multi, Soulmarks, Soulmates, Yenn and Geralt only share one brian cell, Yenn threatens to kill people, they're so in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24870886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMalapert/pseuds/TheMalapert
Summary: Yennefer finds out that Jaskier has been hiding his soul mark. After that, no one makes good decisions.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 37
Kudos: 964





	How to Stay

Yennefer skimmed her nose over his collar bone, tongue sneaking out to taste the sweat gathered there. Completely, utterly sated, Jaskier sat in Geralt’s lap, legs spread wide so Yennefer could fit. She loved this sight. Her bard, every ounce of pleasure wrung from his bones, basking in their attentions. Geralt was especially beautiful when attending to Jaskier. It had taken a while to get over their problems stemming from the djinn, but the way had been smoothed by a tantalizing bard who didn’t know what was good for him.

To think, Jaskier had actually thought he was just getting them back together. After seeing Geralt so torn apart by the closeness that training Ciri required, he got it in his love-sick head to set them up again. In the process, he’d stolen Yen’s heart too, already having earned Geralt’s decades ago. He was just too thick in love with both of them to see the triad forming. After a single night, Jaskier had tried to distance himself.

But that was in the past.

They’d punished him in delicious and creative ways for his foolishness.

“Too good for us,” Geralt rumbled, pressing a kiss to the back of Jaskier’s neck. 

Jaskier made a breathy noise and turned his head so Geralt could capture his lips in a kiss. 

Yennefer let her magic hum, Geralt’s medallion singing, as she healed the slight bruises on Jaskier’s thighs. Jaskier made a noise of protest, but they all knew riding a horse with Geralt and Yennefer’s fingerprints on his ass didn’t make for the best journey. His hips flexed, bucking, and _gods_ did she love Jaskier. 

Something tinged the edge of her magic. Like a response to her thoughts, a warm invitation. She delved deeper and found evidence of a glamor in Jaskier. Old and small, it covered just a few inches of skin next to his shoulder blade.

“Jaskier,” her tone was sharp, jarring, and Jaskier opened his eyes. “Love, are you with us enough to answer a question?”

He rolled his eyes as if not just last month he had squarely passed out after pleasuring them both for hours. Geralt hadn’t yet let him forget that his dick was just _so good_ that Jaskier had actually blacked out while Geralt was balls deep. Jaskier had taken it as a challenge which led to a very long night of marathon-riding until Geralt reached his limit on coming, and Jaskier claimed his triumph. No matter that he would have never been able to had Yennefer not held him back from coming too often, but seeing Geralt absolutely wrecked was worth it.

“I love it when you call me love, darling,” Jaskier replied and pulled Yen into a kiss. She accepted but did not allow it to deter her.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes. What could possibly be so important, though?” His hands threaded through her hair, trying to coax her down again, but she resisted.

“Do you have a glamor?” 

Jaskier froze, the sudden tension answer enough. Geralt’s brows came together, thumbs rubbing circles on Jaskier’s waist. Jaskier relaxed and put on a breezy smile.

“I don’t think so. I’m not a mage, remember? It’s just me.” He was so casual; Yen might have believed him if she didn’t have the evidence herself. And Geralt, well, his hands tightened on Jaskier’s waist.

“I can smell you’re lying,” Geralt growled.

Jaskier pursed his lips. “It’s nothing, really, it must be from when my parents had a mage see me when I was a kid. If I recall, I had a very nasty scar there from a boiling water mishap, and they--”

“ _Jaskier,_ ” Geralt said again, cutting off the lie. Yen’s eyes narrowed, went hard, and Geralt leaned away from Jaskier.

This was exactly _opposite_ of what he wanted. Jaskier melted back into Geralt’s chest, lips forming a pout.

“Really, you two are such worry warts. Can’t this wait until morning? You’ve thoroughly fucked me out, you know, and I am entitled to some rest,” he whined. Yennefer’s hands disappeared from his thighs, and Geralt shifted, climbing out from behind Jaskier. Jaskier rolled petulantly onto his stomach, pressing his face into a pillow. This was never supposed to come up; the glamor was to free them of this conversation. 

Geralt could scent his distress, and he threw a concerned look at Yen. She crossed her arms and shook her head. He crossed his back, shrugging and tilting his head to Jaskier. Yennefer bared her teeth. She picked up a cloth and dunked it in their water pitcher. 

Yen’s weight returned to the bed, and Jaskier resisted the urge to roll over and gather her into his arms, knowing it would likely end in disaster. He felt a cool cloth at the base of his spine and then lower, between his cheeks, gathering what mess was there. 

“You can tell us anything,” Yennefer said, and it was too biting to be soft. Geralt sat next to his head. Jaskier felt soft fingers brush through his hair.

“You don’t have to lie to us,” Geralt said quietly.

 _Gods,_ Jaskier didn’t want to. The scent of fear filled Geralt’s nostrils. Jaskier just couldn’t risk it, couldn’t take the chance. It would kill him if Yen and Geralt decided they didn’t want him now. 

Geralt grunted, trying to rid himself of Jaskier’s fear, and said, “What are you afraid of?”

“Nothing,” Jaskier answered too soon.

“Such bullshit,” Yennefer gritted, and she put her hand over the spot. 

Jaskier reacted immediately, his face jerking out of the pillow. “Fuck off, Yennefer!”

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighed which only made the bard throw him a withering glance. Yennefer launched herself off the bed, arms becoming a defensive cage in front of her. 

“You’re supposed to trust us,” she seethed. “Or is this just more of your romantic bullshit? You’ve made your career off of us. I bet a song about _this_ would--”

“I said fuck off!” Jaskier snarled. Yen’s mouth snapped shut; they rarely saw the bard this angry. Jaskier put his back to the headboard and pulled his legs in close. Geralt reached to him, getting half the distance before Jaskier shied away.

“Just tell us what it’s about,” Geralt said, and of course he didn’t see the big fucking deal. He’d never had a soul mark. Witchers got theirs burned off, and Geralt couldn’t remember his, though he knew he had two.

Yennefer had hers removed at her transformation. She’d thought one of them was for her ex, Istredd, and if he was her first soulmate, she didn’t want to know her second. She remembered hers, though, remembered that her second was a wolf. For Geralt.

But they _hated_ fate. Destiny. Jaskier had watched Geralt run away from his destiny for just about as long as they’d known each other. And Yennefer? It took years to bring her back around to Geralt after the djinn fiasco, and he didn’t know if he could handle that. Now that Jaskier had them, he selfishly wanted them for as long as he could keep them.

“No,” Jaskier answered. 

“Liars don’t get opinions,” Yennefer said and flicked out her hand. 

Jaskier felt a tingling where the glamor hid his soul mark, and then a weight felt lifted from his shoulders. 

The color drained from his face, and his hand flew to the back of his shoulder, covering the skin there. Geralt swayed to see what it was, but Jaskier scrambled off the bed, hitting the floor roughly. He pushed himself back until he was standing in the corner, Geralt’s surprise and Yennefer’s anger overwhelming. 

“You had no right--” His voice trembled.

“I love you!” Yennefer yelled. Jaskier flinched; she didn’t say it often. “And you’re lying to my face!”

“Jask, Yen, please,” Geralt began, at a loss for words. This was not how he saw the night ending. 

Jaskier swept up his undershirt and pants, stumbling to put his back against the wall while donning them. Yennefer paced, putting her back to him while he dressed. 

“I’m sleeping in Ciri’s room tonight,” he said, and he slammed the door without another word. 

“Fuck.” Geralt got off the bed to go take Yen by the shoulders. “What the fuck?”

Yen usually knew what was going on. Geralt could always count on her. But this time she whirled and buried her face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her. 

“I don’t know,” she said. 

_Fuck_. 

…

Jaskier rode next to Ciri all day. They were meandering north as the days got colder, in no real rush to get to Kaer Morhen. Last winter had shown them all how much they truly cared for each other, so there were fond memories waiting. They would never deny Jaskier his audience, though, as performing for the Witchers wasn’t quite the thrill he was used to. 

He chattered and laughed at her jokes like nothing was wrong, but he wouldn’t even glance their way. Kept his eyes on the grass when they stopped to water the horses. Kept his hands moving when they stopped to set up camp. He strummed his lute aimlessly after dinner, watching the stars come out. He named a few and told their stories for Ciri. Geralt was pretty sure he got a few wrong, but where he would usually butt in, it didn’t feel like the time. 

As soon as Ciri retired to the tent, Jaskier announced his intention to do so also. Yennefer bit her lip, trying not to comment, and Jaskier entered the tent in silence.

“Fuck, we have to do something,” Yennefer whispered. “I can’t stand this.”

She got up and went to Geralt, draping herself over his lap. He tucked her head under his chin.

“Hmm,” he rumbled, and she poked his throat.

“You’ve known him longer,” Yen reasoned.

“You’re better at this, though.” Well, he had her there.

“What could be so damn important?” She wondered if it really was a childhood scar. Something he’d glamored away later in life so that he could be so perfect. Or to forget it. Glamors were expensive though. She hardly thought a bard could make enough to afford even such a small one without going hungry.

They were quiet for a long time until Geralt said, “We always assumed he didn’t have a soul mark.”

“Lots of humans don’t,” she said. It was just as likely to have one as not. Some people even had two or three. 

“What if he does?” Geralt shifted behind her.

“Well, then why wouldn’t he show us? Is he embarrassed cause we don’t have them? Or--”

 _Oh_.

The irritation shifted to despair so quick, Yen melted with it. Geralt held her tight as she came to realization that he had. 

“He’s not ours,” Yennefer said, so softly. Geralt pressed his face into her shoulder, squeezing her tight.

“Yen, what if he’s not ours?”

Her hand curled into a fist, and she said, “I’ll kill whoever it is. Jaskier never needs to know them.”

“ _Yen_ ,” Geralt moaned, broken, defeated by the idea of losing Jaskier. Losing him _again_. 

“He’s happy enough with us. He loves us, and he loves Ciri,” Yennefer hissed, knowing she was fighting a losing battle. No matter how much it would hurt, she would never keep Jaskier from his soulmate. From the one destined to make him happy.

“We always knew we were going to lose him,” Geralt sighed into her neck, pressing a kiss there. Yennefer spun in his arms to put her forehead against his, to just bask in his presence.

“We thought we would see it coming, though. When he wrinkles and ages, and _then_ we lose him. Now, we lose him in the next town, next year, any time he could meet his soulmate!” 

Geralt pressed his lips to hers hungrily, desperately. They wallowed in their despair, taking solace in each other’s kisses until it was too much.

“Then he can live and die with them. That’s how soulmates are supposed to go,” Geralt tried to reason. That if Jaskier left them, it would be better for him. He could grow old with his soulmate as soulmates aged and died together.

“I want him with _us_.” Yennefer’s hand snaked down to take his, and her forehead pressed against his. 

“We have to talk to him. If we don’t tell him it’s okay, we might lose him right now.”

Yennefer _hated_ when Geralt was right.

…

They waited until the next town. When they got a room and one for Ciri, and Jaskier was glowing through his performances. This town was generous, filling up his coin purse after only a few sets. Jaskier tried not to look towards the back where Geralt and Yennefer were watching him closely. On a typical night, they would make eyes at each other until Jaskier couldn’t stand it anymore. He would play one last rousing number and retire to let them have their wicked ways.

He laughed at just how un-typical this night was. 

He was upsetting his lovers because he _had_ their soul marks and wouldn’t show them. He knew Geralt hated being lied to, and Yennefer had trust issues that ran as deep as Jaskier’s daddy issues. He was between a rock and a hard place. Choosing between the frying pan and the fire. 

When he next looked up, they were gone. It twisted something in his chest, but he played the rest of his set easier. 

If they were going to leave him regardless, he may as well let them know he would always love them. That he would always want them, regardless of destiny or fate or any of that bullshit. Climbing the stairs to their room, Jaskier tried to harden his shaky resolve. He passed a hand over his coin purse and mentally tallied. He had enough to spring for a room. Just in case. 

They were sitting at the edge of the bed when he came in, their quiet murmurs coming to a stop. They looked poised. As if he was a teenager sneaking out and his parents had waited up for him. He didn’t like the way Yennefer looked so passive. Nothing on her face at all.

“Jaskier,” Yen began and gestured to the rickety chair in the corner. He was all but ready to throw himself at their feet and beg, but he did as instructed, pulling the chair closer.

“We’re sorry about the other night,” Geralt said, and Jaskier blinked back his surprise.

Yen didn’t meet his eyes as she said, “I should have respected your boundaries about your soul mark.”

“So you know,” Jaskier said, unable to keep the cringe out of his expression. He watched the sorrow make Geralt’s face droop, the anger make Yennefer’s posture statuesque. _Fuck_ , of course they knew! Poor little Jaskier, another pawn in destiny’s game. His stomach churned.

“Yes,” Geralt said, measured. “But we want you to know you’re welcome to stay with us.”

Joy made Jaskier’s mind blank.

“What?”

“You’re free to stay, Jaskier, for as long as you--” Yennefer didn’t finish; Jaskier launched himself at her. Her mouth curved against his, but he had another mission. He pulled himself away and attacked Geralt in the same fashion. He pressed so hard, that Geralt let himself fall back into the sheets.

“I take it that’s a yes?” Geralt asked, fondness winning out over sadness. Jaskier bobbed his head enthusiastically and ducked to rain kisses on Geralt’s neck.

“Good,” Yennefer purred and brought her hands to the laces of Jaskier’s breeches. He moaned at the familiar action, hands seeking out the catches on Geralt’s armor. They made quick work of each other’s clothes, but when Geralt tried to take off Jaskier’s undershirt, Jaskier paused.

“Could we… leave it on? For now?” Jaskier flushed, but he’d spent so long with the mark being his and his alone. He didn’t know if he was ready to have his devotion etched on his skin for two without marks of their own. He didn’t doubt that they loved him, but it was another thing entirely to see the evidence written. Evidence he would never have. Besides, they hadn’t seemed to take it _too_ well to begin with, and he didn’t want anything else to ruin his night.

“Of course,” Geralt said, and it wasn’t the first time they fucked in a state of undress.

…

Jaskier had the best soulmates. Since their talk, it seemed like they couldn’t get enough of him.

While Yennefer was off training Ciri, Geralt had pushed him against a tree and taken him with the sounds of magic echoing through the forest. When Geralt was hunting for dinner, he took Ciri along, and Yennefer had taken him in her mouth before the hoofbeats had fully faded. They cuddled him at night, a warm pile of limbs soothing the hurt of the days previous. 

They didn’t ask to see the mark, for which Jaskier was grateful. 

There was something off, though. He caught Geralt staring at him one night after dinner, and in the firelight, Geralt nearly looked _mournful_ . Jaskier had quirked his lips and gone into the first few notes of _Toss a Coin_ which brought a familiar scowl to the Witcher’s face. And then while they were travelling, he often looked back to see Yennefer staring, eyes hard. He didn’t want to think about it too much, knew he wouldn’t like what he analyzed. 

(Maybe they regretted accepting their fates.)

He took what he could while he could. Yennefer was even being much more vocal about her love, going so far as to start “my love”-ing him around camp. Ciri beamed the first time she heard it; all she wanted was to see her family stay together. She couldn’t care less about their sleeping arrangements, so long as they loved and weren’t going anywhere. And Jaskier wasn’t going anywhere, not if he could help it.

The griffin, though, had other plans.

They were three days out of town when the griffin appeared out of nowhere. Geralt would later explain that a dry season had driven its prey out of the hills in search for greener pastures, and the griffin had simply followed.

In the moment, all he had time to say was, “Duck!”

Jaskier’s horse reared, and he tumbled off the back. His mare bolted into the trees, but he paid her no mind. Jaskier darted up, sprinting towards Ciri’s gelding. She was keeping him in line, but there was little she could do to keep the horse from reacting to his instincts. The griffin screeched again, a high, grating noise, and Jaskier was able to catch Ciri as her horse took off. They crouched low, looking for cover.

Geralt was already engaging with his sword, and Yennefer summoned a crackle of lightening to keep it caged, keep it low. In reach.

Jaskier knew his place, and he hurried Ciri over to a thick grove of trees. The griffin would be too large to fly between and would have to hack away to get to them. They almost made it when Jaskier heard Geralt scream _Down!_

He reacted on instinct, collapsing on top of Ciri. Something sharp raked his back, making ribbons out of his doublet. Jaskier grit his teeth to keep from yelling in Ciri’s ear. He just kept her head down, knowing Geralt and Yennefer wouldn’t let the griffin close again.

No sooner had he thought it, than the griffin gave a pitiful death screech. Jaskier glanced up in time to see purple tendrils holding the beast like a leash and Geralt’s sword stuck into its very heart.

Now _that_ was song worthy!

He made it to his knees by the time they got to him, Ciri scrambling up out of the dirt. Jaskier felt a little lightheaded, but if that was from the blood or the adrenaline, he didn’t know. Yennefer fell to her knees beside him.

“Are you okay? Ciri?” She checked on the girl first who nodded vigorously. 

“Jaskier protected me,” Ciri said.

“As always, young cub,” he replied and flashed her a smile. Geralt rolled his eyes, unsheathing a dagger to cut away at the ruined remains of Jaskier’s shirt.

“They’re not very deep. I should be able to heal them now,” Yennefer said, and Jaskier patted her thigh.

“My heroes. To slay a mighty griffin for me and to patch me up tenderly afterwards.” Jaskier in turn scanned them for wounds, but they were immaculate as ever. He didn’t even think he saw sweat on Yennefer. 

“I shouldn’t have let it get away from me,” Geralt growled, pulling away the last of Jaskier’s shirt. 

“It’s nothing, darling,” Jaskier assured him, and Yennefer gasped. “What? Is it bad?”

“Geralt,” she croaked, sounding out of breath. Jaskier tried to twist to see his injuries, but alas. Ciri hurried over too.

“Yen,” Geralt said, though it sounded like he was smiling. 

“Is it something good? Bad? Poison? Am I not long for this world?” If someone didn’t tell him what was going on soon, he would--

“Jaskier, you have a soul mark!” Ciri exclaimed. 

“Why yes, young one, I do.” Was this about them seeing it for the first time? He felt a warmth over his back and knew Yennefer was closing his wounds. When she was done, she took his shoulders and yanked him so he could face them.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” She demanded. 

Jaskier frowned. “You said you knew.”

Yennefer’s lips came together in a thin line. Geralt couldn’t stop smiling.

“Ciri, we’re going to a house for a few days. Won’t that be nice?”

Geralt whistled for their horses as Ciri talked about how fun camping was but she did like a bed. Jaskier looked back and forth between them all, completely confused. As Geralt collected their four horses, Yennefer summoned a portal. Geralt hated travelling by portal, and he said it called unnecessary attention to them to anyone who could look for that. They only portalled for very important reasons, and his injuries weren’t bad, so he couldn’t understand why they were going to one of Yennefer’s safe houses.

They did, though, and immediately, Ciri dashed off. Around the corner, he heard her voice say _what a library!_ before he was dragged to the bedroom.

Geral swept him off his feet and deposited him squarely in the middle of the bed. With one wave of her hand, they were all naked. Jaskier inched his way up the bed as they stared at him like hungry wolves.

“You said you knew,” Jaskier repeated. _This_ was certainly not the reaction he was expecting if they were just finding out about it.

Yennefer tore her eyes away from her bard -- _her bard_ \-- and looked at Geralt, a matching expression of glee on his face. She pulled him close, and they shared a filthy kiss that held none of the despair that had wracked them for the last week.

“He’s ours,” Yennefer said triumphantly. Geralt’s lips curled into a possessive smile.

“He’s ours,” Geralt agreed, and they turned back to Jaskier.

“Of course I am,” he said in a small, meek voice. His hand dipped over his shoulder, caressing where he knew the mark was. “It’s always been you.”

They weren’t going to be separated. The idea made Geralt giddy, and he nearly laughed into his first kiss with Jaskier. Yennefer went straight for the mark, settling herself behind Jaskier. She pressed her lips to his shoulder blade and then further, to the soul mark. Her lips left a tingling touch, and he groaned at the contact. 

She pressed her lips to it again, stunned at how perfect their bard was. And it was written there on his shoulder. A wolf with a halo of purple fire.


End file.
